8:17 AM

when they tell you “all men,” remember
how he rushed in, having seen your wet footprint
on the bath mat, rushed just to embrace you,
so full of tenderness his feet were dancing.
remember him, in red Ball State hoodie,
washing dishes and singing, “Wait for me!”
in his best Orpheus tenor, weeping for tenderness,
or pulling you from your sleepy nest
with a garland of kisses at your hair line,
whispering, “You get umbels.”
he is not all men, or most men, but one man
who cares for a cloudy sky so much he renames it
“the inside of a pearl,” who cares for his students so much
he wakes before dawn, eager for the teaching day to start.
easy, to read the headlines and think “all men.”
easy to forget the gummy vitamins he leaves out every morning,
how he responds to every distressed grunt with heroic chivalry,
easy to take for granted the tea he brings you
joyous as a wagging tail.

oh, yes.
I see you
on this ordinary
Friday morning.